


Contact High

by jaegermighty



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegermighty/pseuds/jaegermighty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I have so many thoughts sometimes they just explode like a birthday cake," Felicity mumbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contact High

It’s been a really long fucking day, and the last thing Oliver wants to do is deal with whatever this _come home right now_ text from Sara means. He’s so tired he thinks he can actually feel himself aging. He’s not sure if that’s medically possible but if it is, he’s feeling it.

"What," he starts to say, pushing his way through the front door with one shoulder, distracted by the enamel that’s starting to curl up in the corner of the floor beneath Felicity’s faux-antique Ikea end table, he’ll have to fix that tomorrow or it’ll just bug the crap out of him, and this is why he doesn’t realize that Sara and Felicity are in an intense stage of foreplay on the couch at first, at least not until he looks up and drops his keys in surprise. "Oh. Hey."

(“Sex,” Sara will tell him later, “I meant come home right now to have sex.”

"Right, caught onto that one eventually," Oliver replies.)

"Hey, you’re home!" Felicity says effusively, pulling away from Sara’s hands to sit up and wave. Considering she doesn’t have currently have a shirt on, this has an incredibly interesting effect. "Oliver! Olive. Er. Awwwliver."

"Are you _high_?” Oliver asks, incredulous. “Sara, is she high? Jesus Christ—”

"Um, yo, we’re both high," Sara says, and Oliver notices abruptly that her pupils are blown as well. Stupid—like Sara would just let Felicity get stoned without joining in—"judgy mcjudgy. Thank you very much."

"Sorry," Oliver says, not really sorry though, that’s totally something Sara would do.

"We got bored waiting for you to come home," Felicity says, pouting a little. She’s got a bra on still, one of Oliver’s favorites, a pink thing that’s sort of see-through at the top, so when it rides down sometimes he can see her nipples through the mesh, and her jeans are sort of digging into her stomach a little, leaving this cute red mark beneath her bellybutton. Oliver’s maybe a tad distracted here. "So we quit waiting. Your loss. Oh well. Too bad. So sad—"

Sara very kindly reaches out and covers Felicity’s mouth. “I think he gets it.”

"Oh-kay," Felicity sing-songs, muffled by Sara’s hand.

"I don’t," Oliver starts, then reconsiders. "Uh. Work went long, and—"

"Take your shoes off," Sara tells him, bluntly impatient like she gets sometimes. She reaches out and grabs her piece from the coffee table, holding it up enticingly. "We saved you some, come on."

Oliver debates for exactly two seconds before kicking his boots off. “Yeah, I’m gonna need a bunch of that.”

Felicity laughs, obviously in a happy place, scooting over and patting the empty space. “Sit between us so I can touch your face, okay? I like your beard. Have I said that already? Sara what’s your middle name, I can’t believe I’ve never asked you that? Does it begin with ‘M’ because you have ‘SML’ written on your chemistry notebook—”

"Honey, honey," Sara says, laughing helplessly, "literally stop talking and breathe, Ollie look at her face, oh my God."

Oliver kicks his feet up on the coffee table, shaking his head at Felicity’s pink cheeks. “Come here,” he says, reaching out to touch one with his palm. Felicity clamps her mouth shut dramatically, leaning into his touch. “You gotta pause between thoughts okay?”

"I have so many thoughts sometimes they just explode like a birthday cake," Felicity mumbles, blinking. "Wait, I meant confetti."

Sara laughs harder, falling sideways against the couch cushion.

"I know you do," Oliver says fondly, touching her nose with his. Felicity giggles, reaching up and scratching at his stubble with her fingernails. "God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucked up before."

"Yeah, you need to catch up," Sara says, nudging his arm to hand over the pipe. 

"Catch up," Felicity says, popping the ‘p.’

Oliver takes two long drags in a row, feeling it almost right away. Sara always gets good shit, or maybe he just already had a contact high from just walking into the fucking apartment, who knows. God knows walking in on Sara and Felicity in any stage of nudity is enough to make any guy feel a little stoned. 

"Long day, huh," Sara says, leaning into Oliver’s side. She’s still wearing her dress, but her leggings are in a pile on the floor, and she’s definitely not wearing any underwear. It’s just—a feeling Oliver has. "Life is hard for you rich, handsome, able-bodied white guy types—"

"Shut up," Oliver says, laughing, "you have no idea how many times I had to stop Tommy from calling Laurel today. It was like an episode of Degrassi. So many heartfelt conversations—”

Felicity groans. “I can’t believe they broke up again! No. That’s awful. Awful and horrible. Do you think Laurel’s going to forgive him? I think she will, she seems like she really loves him—”

"Can you not babble about my sister when you’re wearing that bra please," Sara says.

"Would it help if she took it off?" Oliver asks mildly.

"No, don’t be silly." Felicity slaps his arm. "Oh—that was a come on. Right."

Oliver laughs, and Sara shrieks a little, taking the pipe and lighter from his hand, catching his wrist mid-movement. “Watch it, Ollie, that’s how you broke my last one, doofus.”

Oliver reaches out and grabs her waist as she leans over him to the coffee table, floating on a dizzy cloud of contentment (okay, weed) and the arousal that’s been slowly building in his spine since he walked in. “Hey, you watch it, c’mere—”

Sara laughs, barely managing to set the pipe on the table before Oliver drags her into his lap. She sprawls sideways, her head falling onto Felicity’s denim-clad thigh. Her hair flies out everywhere, a straw-colored cloud. 

"Hey, hi!" Felicity says happily, running her fingers through Sara’s bangs. Sara just laughs again, face flushed and happy. "You look pretty upside down."

"You look pretty right side up," Sara says, and Felicity leans down and kisses her face, little pecks all over her nose and cheeks. 

Oliver watches thoughtfully, running his hands up Sara’s thighs to test his no-underwear theory—of course he was right. He’s always right about such matters. “Hey, Felicity,” he says, dragging Sara’s dress up to her waist, “why can’t a bike stand on its own?”

"No!" Sara shouts angrily, "no no _no_ we’re not doing that—”

"It’s two tired," Oliver finishes, sending Felicity into spasms of laughter. "Get it, Sara?"

"Fuck off, I hate this game," Sara says, voice hitching slightly in the middle as Oliver pushes her further down the couch, more firmly into Felicity’s lap. "Please can we just have sex once without the stupid joke thing, _please_?”

"I got one, I got one," Felicity says, and Oliver gets up on his knees, pulling Sara’s legs apart, "what do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary?"

"Oh, no, fuck you," Sara says, right as Oliver bends down and gets his mouth on her clit, pushing her thigh backwards and just going for it, like Sara likes—do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars, just get me off and be quick about it, Ollie, jesus fuck. "No, I’m not—shit—not playing."

"A thesaurus," Felicity says triumphantly, holding Sara’s shoulders. She laughs, and the sound mixes up with Sara’s breathy moans, the best kind of music. "Sara, Sara, hey. Your turn."

"Nope," Sara says, hooking one knee on Oliver’s shoulder. He pulls back, enough to look up and see Felicity leaning down over Sara’s head for a kiss, running her palm down the plane of skin between her breasts. 

It’s funny—not _funny_ funny, just funny—how different Sara and Felicity are in what they like, what they want. Oliver could probably produce detailed, filthy lists of dos and don’ts in his sleep. Sara—she likes it fast, she’ll get impatient if you don’t get right to it, and so Oliver goes fast—two fingers inside her, hard, quick circles on her clit, consistent motion and don’t stop once she starts to make that _ah, ah, ah_ sound because she’ll probably hit you if you do.

(Sara’s orgasms are sort of perfunctory like that, she likes to get them out of the way so she can take her time later, which is why she usually goes first. Felicity, on the other hand, likes the slow build. Oliver should write a goddamn book.)

"Fuck," Sara says emphatically, pushing Oliver away and hissing, "too much, too much—"

"Sorry," Oliver says, wiping his mouth on the inside of her knee. She shivers, still shaking. "Okay?"

"Yeah, just." Sara swallows, arching beneath Felicity’s hands, still rubbing big circles on her shoulders, her collarbone. "Wow, that was a really bad joke."

"Spoilsport," Felicity says, sounding kind of breathless. Her eyes are totally blown, and she’s breathing sort of heavily. Oliver sits back on his haunches, letting Sara rest her knees against his chest. "Can I—Sara, I need—"

"Yeah, honey," Sara murmurs, reaching up. Felicity leans down and they kiss again, all teeth and aggression. "You got another joke for me?" Sara asks when they pull apart. Their faces are so close, and Sara tugs at Felicity’s bra, pulling it down her torso roughly, catching her breasts as they spill out. "Come on, make me laugh."

"How," Felicity says, swallowing, pressing into Sara’s hands, "how do you make holy water?"

"I know that one," Oliver says. His own voice surprises him, rougher, lower than he’d been expecting it to sound. He feels sort of out of it now, the weed settling into his bones, creating this soft cushion between his brain and the rest of the world. Like he, and Sara, and Felicity, are all wrapped up together in the universe’s pocket, and the rest of reality is just, like. Over there, somewhere. "You boil the hell out of it."

Sara snorts. “Of course.”

"I like that one," Felicity says, pulling back and sitting up straight. She looks like a total mess, her bra all twisted around, upside down around her ribs. She doesn’t seem to care much. "What time is it to go to the dentist? Tooth-hurtie."

Oliver laughs. “You stole my turn.”

"Oh, sorry."

"God, you two are ridiculous," Sara says impatiently. She sits up abruptly, tugging on Felicity’s wrist. "Switch me places, come on. I want to watch him fuck you."

"Hey!" Felicity laughs, swatting at her hands.

Sara grins, responding by literally pushing Felicity to her feet, unzipping her jeans and tugging them down her hips. “Ollie are you gonna stare or help, jeez. I’m trying to help you out here—”

Oliver rolls his eyes, reaching out and pulling Felicity closer, helping her step out of the jeans. “Pushy.”

"She likes it, look," Sara says, tugging Felicity’s panties down, running her hands up Felicity’s thighs. Felicity’s breath hitches, reaching out to grab Oliver’s shoulders for balance as Sara pushes two fingers inside her. 

"Jesus," Oliver mutters, sort of against his will. He sort of wants to sit back into the couch and watch _and_ push them both back against the coffee table at the same time. 

"Condom," Felicity says, strained, to the ceiling. Her hair’s falling out of its messy ponytail, bits and pieces of it sticking to her neck with sweat. "Sara—"

"On it," Sara mutters, pulling her hand away, making Felicity whimper a little. Oliver reaches out and steadies her, squeezing her hips as Sara crawls over somewhere, presumably in search of a condom. 

"Felicity," Oliver says, pulling her closer. Felicity’s head bobs down and she smiles at him sweetly, sliding her hands back up to scratch at his beard again. Oliver feels a wave of strong, fond affection. "Hey."

"Hey," Felicity says back softly, sliding down into his lap. Oliver’s arms curl naturally around her waist. It’s a unique kind of hot, to be still fully clothed while Felicity’s naked, all warm and wet against him. 

"Yeah, you should do it like this," Sara says, appearing again with condom in hand. She comes up behind Felicity’s back, trailing her fingertips along Oliver’s arm where it wraps around Felicity’s waist. "Ollie, don’t even take your clothes off, just—here—"

Oliver catches the condom, gently pressing on Felicity’s hips, encouraging her up. She moves sluggishly, breathing heavily, shaking a little like she does when she’s on the edge. It’s just—really, insanely hot.

"Sara, help me," Oliver says, and Sara pulls Felicity back against her chest, pressing kisses into her neck as Oliver undoes his belt and pulls his pants down just enough, making quick work of the condom. "Hey. What does a nosy pepper do?"

"Gets jalapeno business," Felicity says, and sinks down on his cock in one quick motion. "Oh, f—"

Sara squeezes her shoulders, nipping the shell of her ear and then leaning in over Felicity’s head, grabbing Oliver’s neck and kissing him roughly, distracting him while Felicity breathes and shakes between them, getting used to the sensations. Oliver bites Sara’s bottom lip vengefully, clutching Felicity’s waist and trying desperately not to move.

"Fucking jokes," Sara says, when she pulls away, pressing up against Felicity’s back. Felicity leans back against her, changing the angle slightly, looking down at Oliver through hooded eyes.

"Show us how to do it then," Oliver challenges, bracing his feet against the floor and leaning his shoulders back against the couch. 

Sara shoots him a grin, lacing her fingers through Felicity’s. “I guess I could, yeah.”

"Both of you shut up," Felicity says, and uses the leverage she has, wedged between both of them, to twist her hips. Oliver grunts in surprise, knocking his head back against the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"Oh okay," Felicity says, all high and breathy and surprised, like she’s just now catching onto the proceedings. She laughs a little, reaching out and grabbing the collar of Oliver’s shirt. "Okay, yeah." Oliver reaches up and fumbles for her hand, laughing with her.

"Yeah," he says, and they get to work.

It’s a good fucking thing that Felicity is already so close because so is Oliver, the orgasm already building in his spine. He locks eyes with Sara when Felicity starts to come, clutching his neck and throwing her head back against Sara’s chest. Oliver holds her against him by her thighs, feeling her pulse around his cock and thinking about how he never had a chance, not since he walked into through the door. Before that, really. Way, way before.

(Oliver comes right after that with his face in Felicity’s neck and Sara’s hands in his hair, he doesn’t really remember how the moments before he got there specifically but he remembers Sara laughing quietly, husky and low, and Felicity mumbling something in his ear about—fish? Something, he’ll have to ask her later.)

"Oh man," Felicity says, collapsing against his chest. Her head moves up and down as Oliver catches his breath, hair brushing his chin on every inhale. 

"Uh huh," Sara says, and plops down on the coffee table, fumbling for the pipe and lighter. She takes a hit, keeping her eyes on Felicity’s back, the spot where Oliver’s holding her waist. 

"How is that not cashed yet?"

"Magic," Sara says, and takes another long hit, inhaling and holding the smoke in. She stands up and motions to Oliver, leaning down and pressing her lips to his, exhaling it into his mouth.

Felicity giggles tiredly at the sight, and Sara brushes her hair back fondly as she stands up. Oliver relaxes under her weight, letting her press him back into the cushions. He’s gotta get up soon, take care of the condom, that won’t be fun if he doesn’t. Maybe—maybe in a second, though.

"What were you saying before," Oliver murmurs, pressing the words into the crown of Felicity’s head. He distantly feels Sara sit down beside him, leaning against his arm. 

"What did the fish say when he hit a concrete wall?" Felicity asks.

Sara laughs suddenly, pressing the pointy edge of her chin to Oliver’s shoulder.

"This one I know," she says triumphantly, hooking one ankle on Oliver’s knee. "God, _dam_.”


End file.
